In the Cooler
by Goldleaf83
Summary: Well, how would YOU feel if Colonel Hogan's shenanigans had landed you in the cooler?
1. First Hour

_Author's note: A short three-chapter set of missing and extra scenes for the episode "Reservations Are Required" that I wrote back in March. _

ooOoo

Chapter 1: First Hour

I sigh heavily as the heavy solid cooler door closes behind me with an iron whine, hearing next the loud clank of the lock turning just as I turn around to look at that now-bolted door. I also hear a second door clanging shut just across the corridor: that's my best buddy, Corporal Jim Davis, being locked into his cell. Next I hear the guards' booted footsteps tramp back down the hallway and climb the stairs, and then the distant slam of the building door. It's quiet in the cooler now. Real quiet.

"Barnes?" Davis's voice is kinda muffled by the walls and heavy metal doors between us, but I can hear it well enough to make out okay what my friend said.

"Yeah?" I call back.

"Can you explain to me exactly why we're in here, hunh? I mean, one minute we're standing around the compound with nothing to do, then we're part of a diversion – and I hardly know what we were diverting attention from – and then the colonel calls us into the barrack and dumps a bucket of water on each of us, and next thing we're being marched in here. And jeez, it's cold and I'm completely soaked!"

I sigh again. I'm sopping wet too, courtesy the bucket of water Colonel Hogan dumped over me – though at least I had a moment's warning, having seen the Colonel throw the first bucket over Davis. Not that knowing it was coming really helped. Davis's heavy flight jacket probably shielded him from the water somewhat better than my own cloth coat did, but that wet leather is going hold the water longer. Either way, we're both going to be wet – and cold – for hours. The one good thing is that most of the water landed on my head and chest, so my boots didn't get too wet and my feet are pretty dry.

"I mean, why us?" Davis continues plaintively.

"I think we were just the closest ones to the door when he called us."

"Then next time we're helping in a diversion, let's be sure we're on the far side of the group from the colonel, okay?" Davis is apparently dripping sarcasm as well as water.

"You got it. Look, we'd better keep walking around these cells," I advise. "If we sit down, we'll get our mattresses and blankets wet, and we'll just get even colder. So keep moving. We'll dry out faster that way."

"Yeah, it'll only take six hours, instead of seven or eight," Davis grouses.

We're silent for a while. I discover that I have room to make five steps each direction before having to turn and come back. I've always wished I was taller, but for once I'm blessing my own shorter height. Davis has a good five inches on me, and since most of that height is in his legs, my lanky friend can probably only make four steps in his cell.

Five steps and turn. Five steps and turn. Five steps and turn.

I can't count the number of times I've lain on my bunk and watched Colonel Hogan pace back and forth in the barrack when he's been frustrated over something that hasn't turned out right or when he's waiting on news. Unlike the Colonel, though, pacing like this has never come naturally to me: I just don't have my C.O.'s restless nature. My Ma has always called me her calm and sensible boy, which is about right, and I'm usually able to wait out problems without getting too twisted up inside over them. But right now pacing is the only hope I have to keep warm, so pace I do, making myself walk and turn and walk and turn, over and over again in the small stone cell.

I can't help thinking about what got us into this mess – the twenty escaped guys from Stalag 9 who've been holed up with us for the past couple of days. The Colonel's operation has never had so many escaped prisoners to handle at once: we all just about fell over in surprise when LeBeau told us how many of them there were. Kinch, Newkirk, and Carter have been working round the clock and pushing all the teams hard to get the clothes and papers ready for a quick departure for all twenty of them, while LeBeau has been pilfering, organizing, and stretching the food he cooks to cover twenty extra mouths.

Me, I'm not high skilled, so I'm not on any one team; I float and just do whatever needs doing. So I've been assigned a lot of odd jobs to help get this big bunch of guys ready to go. I'm not great with a needle, but Newkirk has taught me how to baste hems for him, to save him and the other tailors time so they can do the fancy work. And I've spent time helping Kinch organize the forged papers into batches so each man would have the whole set he needed. I was part of the group that carried dinner last night and breakfast this morning down to the tunnel for all those guys to eat, and then carried the dishes back up afterwards and got them washed. And of course I took my turns as lookout. We've all worked really hard to get those guys ready to go out – and in record time too.

So I can still hardly believe that two of the Stalag 9 guys could have been so stupid as to jeopardize the safe getaway of all their fellow escapees – not to mention risking the lives of all of us at Stalag 13 who're helping them. But Braden looked like trouble to me from the first time he came up from the tunnel into Barrack 2. I mean, challenging the Colonel the way he did! And Mills is thick as thieves with him. If anyone was going to make trouble, it was those two, and they sure did.

And now Davis and I are paying for their idiocy.

I wonder what's going on right now back in Barrack 2. I suppose Colonel Hogan is dealing with the aftermath of the supposed escape attempt.

After thinking about that for a moment, I call over to Davis, "You know there are worse situations to be in than this."

"Oh yeah? How?" Davis demands. He sounds even more steamed than earlier, not cooled off at all.

"We could be those two guys from the tunnel that the colonel used us to cover for."

"And just how are they worse off? They aren't locked freezing wet in the cooler!"

"No, they're facing the Colonel at the moment."

A long moment's silence. Then Davis's voice cuts through the quiet chill.

"Yeah, you're right. I think I'd rather be in here."

ooOoo


	2. Second Hour

Chapter 2: Second Hour

ooOoo

"Do you think it bothered him at all?"

I jerk out of the near trance I've fallen into as I've been pacing the cell. "What?"

"The Colonel," Davis clarifies. "I mean, he didn't hesitate throwing all that water on us, he was even grinning when he gave us up to Klink, and he didn't protest a word when Klink sentenced us to thirty days."

"He probably did argue it with Klink," I protest reasonably. I know Davis is mad, but he's being unfair. "We just got dragged out of there first and didn't hear it. That guard sure didn't waste any time once the Kommandant told him to take us away."

"So d'you think it bothered him any, him throwing us to the dogs that way?"

I pause for a minute in my pacing to think how to respond to that kind of a question, stuffing my hands back up in my armpits where there's a very small bit of warmth. "There weren't any dogs; they're outside the fence," I answer, hoping the joke will help ease Davis's anger.

Doesn't work. "You know what I mean!" Davis's voice is sharper still.

I sigh again. Sure seems like I'm doing a lot of that, but I guess this is a situation that calls for it. I can usually jolly Davis out of his bad moods, but humor clearly isn't going to work on him this time. At least, not yet. "Yeah, I think it probably did."

"You sure? He's an officer. He does what he has to in order to accomplish the mission, right? Isn't that an officer's job, being willing to sacrifice his men for the good of the cause?"

The bitterness in Davis's voice is really beginning to worry me.

"Besides, it's not like we're the first string," Davis cuts back in before I can answer. "You don't see him drenching Newkirk or Carter or LeBeau or Kinch and then letting _them_ go sit in the cooler for days and weeks on end."

"Look, the Colonel did what he had to," I argue back. "He couldn't let the other eighteen guys from Stalag 9 get caught just because Braden and Mills jumped the gun – he said that himself before he doused us with the buckets. You even agreed with him," I point out.

"That was before I knew what he was going to do to us!" Davis is unwilling to give an inch.

"That shouldn't make a difference. The Colonel didn't really have a choice. And like I said earlier, he's probably still bawling out those two creeps for messing up the mission, and I wouldn't be in their shoes for anything – even if their shoes are drier than ours."

A snort answers me, and the glimmer of humor makes me hope I'm finally getting through to my buddy. "C'mon, Davis, you can't really think the Colonel wanted this to happen. He was just doing damage control as fast as he could. He didn't have a lot of options. And once Klink cools off, Colonel Hogan will work on him to get us out early. When was the last time anyone served the full thirty days?"

All I get for my speech is silence. Guess I haven't convinced him yet.

"C'mon, Davis, give him a break," I plead. "You know the missions come first. We all agreed to that when he started the operation up. A few days in the cooler are hardly the worst we're all risking," I add in warning.

We all know that a firing squad would be the consequences for getting caught by the Germans for the escape and espionage and sabotage operation that the Colonel runs. I try not to think about it most of the time, but sometimes I can't help it. The very thought of it makes me shiver now in the chilly damp air of my cell. Stalag 13 is really the most dangerous POW camp of all to be in, and especially so for all of us that live in Barrack 2, right in the middle of the action. It's always felt good to me to still be contributing to our side in the war after being shot down, but I know it's risky. _Real_ risky. We all count on the Colonel's plans and intuition to keep us alive, and he's always done it so far. I decide I'd better remind Davis of that.

"Colonel Hogan'll do anything to avoid exposing the whole operation," I say. "This time it just happened to be the two of us who have to pay the price."

"Yeah." Davis's voice is grudging, but I hear the reluctant acceptance of reality that I need to hear in his tone and breathe a sigh of relief.

"I just wish if he was going to douse us with water, it had been in July, not the beginning of March," is Davis's final comment.

"Me too, pal. Me too," I agree wistfully.

After that we're both quiet as we pace. All anybody would hear from either of us is the sound of shuffling feet from behind the doors on each side of the cooler corridor.

ooOoo


	3. Next Morning

Chapter 3: Next Morning

Breakfast, such as it is, gets brought by a guard, and I finish it off all too quickly. At least the ersatz coffee is still pretty warm, if not exactly hot, and after warming my hands around the tin mug for just a minute I try to get it inside me as quickly as I can to take advantage of the heat left in it. I'm finally dry, though when I asked earlier if he'd dried out yet Davis grumbled that his leather jacket and hat are still damp and will probably mold before they dry completely. But I know he's exaggerating. The cooler is still chilly, but not as bad as yesterday, and at least we were both able to sleep last night.

I'm sitting back on my bunk doing math, using the cement blocks in the long opposite wall to pass the time, and I've gotten through counting them, and doing addition and multiplication and am working on division when to my surprise I hear the door to the building open off schedule; even more to my surprise I hear multiple well-known voices coming in. I stand up and move to the door, listening avidly to figure out what's going on.

"'Ave a 'eart, Schultz!" A British cockney accent I'd recognize anywhere.

"Yeah, we've been working all night!" A Midwestern drawl, high pitched with outrage.

"Right, Schultz, at least let us wash up first. The tap's right here." Kinch's calm, convincing, deep-pitched voice, laced with an authority that no one in the barrack disputes, and that even the Colonel listens to.

"_Oui_, and it's worth a strudel for you when we get out, Schultzie." A French-accented voice cajoling persuasively.

"Ach, you will get me in trouble!" Schultz's voice, but he's clearly wavering.

"C'mon, Schultz, just a quick wash up. It'll only take a few minutes, and how's the Kommandant to know?" Kinch's voice is persuasive.

"All right, but you must hurry. Quickly now!"

Next comes splashing and spluttering, with various comments of "Ooo, that's cold!" "Now I'm more mud than dirt," and various huffings and puffings, plus a few choice comments in French that I've heard before but still don't understand, since neither LeBeau nor Kinch will translate them. It's really aggravating, having people say things all the time that you can't understand and then not telling you what they mean by it!

"All right, that's enough. Into the cells you must go now!" Various clinks, clanks, and iron squeals as doors shut and locks turn. "Be good boys, now!" Schultz warns, to answering catcalls like "Oh yeah, what're we going to do from in here?" Then his heavy footsteps plod down the corridor away from us. The far door to the building clangs shut yet again, and quiet descends, but only for a moment.

"Barnes! Davis!" Kinch's voice. "You two okay? You dry out by now?"

"Yeah, we're fine!" I call back, followed by Davis's query, "What're all you guys doing in here? Is everything okay?"

"Oi, just peachy keen," Newkirk's sarcastic voice answers. "The Colonel's brilliant idea, this is."

"Really?" I hear disbelief in Davis's voice. "What's he doing giving _you_ guys up for this?"

"Newkirk!" There's reproof in Kinch's voice. "You know it was the only way to get the Stalag 9 guys out."

"A night of 'ard labor movin' enough dirt to refill a tunnel, followed up by thirty days in the cooler for each of us, don't seem to me at the moment like the best idea the colonel ever 'ad," Newkirk grumbles, but then he adds with reluctant fairness, "Not that I can think of what else 'e might've done, mind you."

"Well, we got plenty of time to sleep now," Carter's cheerful voice responds. "And Schultz did let us wash some of the dirt off. At least it's not all in my eyes now."

"Sounds better than being drenched like we were," Davis gripes, obviously still intent on his own grievance.

"At least you didn't have to run through the woods with guards shooting at you!" LeBeau snaps back.

Well, he's right about that. I'd rather be shut up wet in here than dashing around out there with bullets flying around me! Sometimes second string's not so bad. . . .

"Cool it, everybody," Kinch retorts. "Carter's right, we've got the sack time now that we missed last night – _and_ the night before it too, getting those guys ready to go – so plan to take advantage of it. The Colonel will get us out of here as soon as he can. This wasn't his first choice, just a makeshift plan. So just deal with it."

Davis apparently just can't help himself. "Well, I don't see the Colonel in here, so I guess he was able to weasel _himself_ out of the Kommandant's punishment. It's no skin off his officer nose for us enlisted to take the heat – or in this case, the cold."

I groan inwardly: that was _not_ the kind of comment my buddy should be making about our C.O. to his right-hand men! Plus, I really don't think the Colonel deserves it.

Apparently neither do the others, given that Kinch and Newkirk respond at the same time. Newkirk's more strident voice wins out over Kinch's this time, though. He might have been complaining earlier, but now he's apparently all on Colonel Hogan's side.

"You weren't there, Davis, and you didn't see 'im. I was in ol' Klink's office when the Kommandant told the Colonel that we'd all get thirty days for that tunnel, and I could see that it 'it 'im 'ard, the way 'e looked over at me. Sure, 'e was willing to tease me about bein' all over dirt when I first came in the office, but 'e was also worried about 'ow 'ard we'd been workin' all night. Plus, ol' Klink meant our sentence to get to 'im, all gleeful like 'e was and makin' sure the Colonel knew we were takin' the consequences. There weren't nothin' the Gov'nor could do right then, and I could see the regret in 'is eyes when 'e looked at me, plain as the nose on me face, even if 'e couldn't say nothin' about it right then and there with the Kommandant listenin'. 'E knows it's 'is responsibility we're in 'ere, and 'e's none too 'appy about it. So don't you go makin' assumptions that it don't bother 'im none. 'E did what 'e 'ad to then, and 'e'll do all 'e can for us, soon as possible."

"Right," Kinch affirms. "So like I said, just cool off and get some shut-eye. We've been short on that for a few days, so we might as well enjoy the break."

"Cool off? I guess it's a good thing we're in the cooler, huh?" Carter's irrepressible cheerfulness comes through again with a chuckle.

Everyone groans.

"'E thinks that's funny, 'e does," Newkirk mutters just barely audibly.

I have another question I just have to ask, though. "Just one more thing before you guys sack out – did the Colonel give Braden and Mills a good chewing out yesterday?"

That provokes a handful of rueful snickers.

"Oh boy, did he ever! I didn't think he'd ever stop!" Carter laughs.

"What, you mean you couldn't hear it in here?" Kinch asks, and I swear I can actually hear a grin in his voice.

"Yeah, I rather thought me sister Mavis in London could've 'eard all that 'e 'ad to say to them," Newkirk says thoughtfully. "Not that some of that language was fit for a lady's ears!"

"The only problem was he denied me permission to punch them each in the nose!" LeBeau adds indignantly.

"Did you really request that?" asks Davis, and the laughter I hear in his voice makes me relax.

"_Oui!_" LeBeau answers emphatically.

Kinch backs him up with a chuckle, "He really did, and I think the Colonel was wanted to say yes but was too tempted to do it himself. But he restrained himself – I think I heard him mutter something about 'conduct unbecoming'!"

Grinning at the picture their responses create, I sit down on my bunk and look around my bare cell again. I really hope the Colonel will figure a way to get us all out of here soon. I know he'll work on it as hard as he can – he's pretty short-handed with six of us in here, after all, and probably feeling pretty guilty about having landed us here in this most recent scheme of his. But in the meantime, I _do_ have a chance to catch up on sleep, something often in short supply for all of us who live in Barrack 2. And I'm not alone, not really, not with my best buddy just across the corridor and the other guys of Barrack 2 nearby in earshot too. I just have a little more privacy than usual. Yeah. That's the way to think about it. I lie back on the bunk, wrap my blanket around me, and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep.

The End


End file.
